Our Unforgivable Sins
by In a Quandary
Summary: Felix and Jenna commit the most unforgivable sin of all. And Isaac is there to watch the whole sorry tale unfold. Post-TLA.
1. Prologue: Unburied Sentiments

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**Title:** Our Unforgivable Sins

**Genre:** Romance/Tragedy

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** Incest. Violence, gore and sexual themes. Major character death and mentions of suicide. Not for the faint-hearted.

**A/N:** My own contribution to the abysmally unpopular Oopsies-ship, along with a liberal dose of (mostly one-sided) Valeshipping, as is the incorrigible tendency of mine. Beware of the Romeo-Juliet undertones though, which had – unintentionally, I assure you! – crept their way into the story. A multi-chaptered piece of middling length, and incidentally, my first foray into GS fanfic.

**Disclaimer**: Golden Sun is my canvas. Permanently borrowed.

**Plot summary: **Felix and Jenna commit the most unforgivable sin of all. And Isaac is there to watch the whole sorry tale unfold. Post-TLA.

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**Prologue – Unburied Sentiments**

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It has been eight years now.

Eight years. How swiftly time passes. I still remember, with unfailing clarity, the day Mount Aleph erupted – it was the day the Elemental Stars were removed from their sanctuary, and the same day, which the fate of the world was thrust into the hands of a boy. It had seemed like only yesterday, but more than an eternity had passed between now and then. The eruption of Mount Aleph – the Unsealing of Alchemy, that occurred nine years ago. No, I speak of a different tale, perhaps the most tragic tale of all, one that took place in its immediate aftermath.

I was merely a boy then, two years short of the second decade. True, you may still look upon me as a young man – eight years would, by no means, add wizened lines to a face so inexperienced. But how appearances are deceiving, for my heart no longer bears the levity of youth. The events that transpired eight years ago could transform any spring lamb into the weariest, most gnarled of oaks, aged prematurely before their years.

Even they, who were said to be the cause of it all, earned no respite from such grief.

__

They.

Sinners of the utmost depravity, some would call them, but I prefer the term 'friends'. In spite of what they had done – even I do not claim to deny it – there is no forgetting the warmth of our communion, the joy of the times we had shared. Steadfast allies, they were in battle, quick to defend the unprotected backs of their fellow comrades, a number which I gladly include myself in.

Unable to bear the stain of their disgrace, the world had chosen to forget them. But I have not. And so, I shall recite their unspoken eulogy:

_She_ was fire. The kind that stole the heart with its indefinable beauty, yet smothered those foolish enough to step too close. You know the saying, 'Don't play with fire, or you'll get burnt?' It was exactly like that – none could escape unscathed in an encounter with her. Her temper had widespread repute as the most ferocious of them all, but the hard, determined words she'd utter in danger's grasp could inspire courage unlike any other.

Proud, bold, unafraid to voice her opinion, yet unwilling to show weakness – those were the traits that defined her. Often had she been called 'unladylike', but her passion detracted from her femininity not at all – she was the flame, and men were drawn to her like moths. (Including myself.) She was beautiful, yet indescribably dangerous at the same time; a double-edged sword men would happily pierce their hearts on, just to taste a morsel of her radiance.

And then, there was _he_.

He was, in the shortest sense of the word, a leader. Indeed, many would drop their swords to follow him – it was the commanding aura of a man who had faced death countless times over, and never gave in. Nonetheless, this wasn't the quality that had so thoroughly earned my respect. Even the staunchest of admirers would abandon their leaders in the face of adversity.

What _had_ earned my respect was the fact that he was steadfast. Perhaps one with a less favourable opinion of him would call him predictable, but his consistency had many a time put me at ease. He was always true to his word, just as he was always fair – allowing everyone full reign of their own opinions and actions, provided that they be well-reasoned. All those under his wing were guaranteed safety – however frail or strong, however brave or timid, it didn't matter. They were all his duty.

Especially her.

And such was the nature of their unforgivable sin. Brother and sister, they were, and lovers, in addition to being unlawful husband and wife. They had committed the worst of treacheries against their own flesh and blood, and for it, paid the ultimate price. Many would say that they deserved no less – that it was a fit tribute to their befouling of their names, their honour as the descendents of the guardians who watched over the Seal of Alchemy for centuries past.

But I digress.

No, it would be an insult to their memory to call them mere victims of fate – they had, after all, played a part in their own demise. But neither were they answerable for everything. Few were the circumstances within their control, and fewer still, the opportunities to escape the confines of their characters, which had dutifully led them to do what they did.

For theirs was a tale of innocent beginnings, of good intentions that had inadvertently gone wrong. Forbidden romance was hardly its starring theme – yet the loyalty of kinship that embodied it went unpraised, unable to travel any route but that of perversion. Loneliness and despair were their constant companions, and heartbreak, neighbouring thunder. Theirs was a tale better known as a scandal, yet one doomed to fade into obscurity.

I do not lie, I do not exaggerate. Perhaps you have heard differently. Perhaps, to you, it was merely a fable told to discomfit the less-than-innocent. But whether it be of two unfortunate siblings sacrificed to some illicit ritual, or of two evil, immoral rogues who sought ill-fame for their own twisted purposes, I shall have to ask that you offer them – not the fictional persons, but my two, beloved friends – one last chance at redemption. Do the dead not deserve to be remembered with dignity, after all?

My request is simply this:

Let me tell you the truth of how they lived, loved, and died.

Let me tell you _their_ story.

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**A/N:** Reviews will be very much appreciated. Ah, heck, I'll just skip the formalities. A simple 'I like it, please continue' or otherwise will be very helpful - as it provides me some indication as to how well this story is being received.

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	2. Chapter I: Dreary Days

**A/N:** My gracious thanks you have, all readers of this story – especially those who reviewed! Note the reversion of time to eight years past – this will persist for the next eleven chapters or so. And without further ado, I present:

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**Our Unforgivable Sins**

**Chapter I – Dreary Days**

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Light.

It was there, the firstborn of Sol, sat upon its burnished throne at the edge where heaven met earth. With knightly splendor it shone, its armour gilt with the blessings of empyrean: rays pink, gold and silver. Rays that streamed up, down, and transverse – celestial swords tearing through the black horizon and its shadowed compatriots beneath, to purge the remnants of yesternight and bring forth the new morn.

And so, in the glorious ritual that marked the sun's eternal rebirth, dawn had come to the land of Weyard.

Deep in the heart of northwestern Angara, where the arrival of dawn was preceded only by its lateness, first light was as molten gold spilt across the treetops. Here, the wind was still, the ground yet unthawed in the seasons' fresh emergence from winter's grasp. The towering spire that was Mount Aleph now kissed the sky no more, swallowed into the earth like the small settlement that had once embraced its slopes. Yet its people remained, undeterred in their efforts to reclaim the sacred soil – soil whereupon the seeds of their heritage had been sown and harvested since time immemorial.

Out of the ashes of its ravaged predecessor, New Vale was being built.

It was early still, and still was the glade that housed the growing village and its ever-resilient Valeans. Defaced with numerous cracks and fissures, the purple Psynergy crystal nonetheless glinted proudly, the single artifact preserved in the carnage that overtook its surroundings not long ago. The tantalizing scents of woodsmoke, freshly-chopped lumber and man filled the air, chasing themselves in endless circles around the few buildings that stood. Numerous tents of similar make littered the ground, accompanied by their steadfast campfires that kept vigil overnight with their fiery bodies and burning eyes.

In one of the aforementioned tents, a boy with golden hair stirred. The latter was not of the ethereal, silvery sort – instead, it more resembled honey, rich and earthy, flopping about his head in a haphazard arrangement of spiky locks. His brows were fine and rather effeminate, matched in beauty by the delicately upturned nose and tapered chin. Newly-grown stubble lined his jaw, its scantiness proof of his mere years of eighteen. With lips slightly parted and eyelashes drooped, his expression could only be described as one of utmost innocence.

Truly, it was an unremarkable sight for one who had supposedly saved the world.

Startlingly blue eyes opened then, along with that of creaking jaws in the perfunctory morning yawn. It had been an unusually peaceful sleep for one Isaac Milton, empty of the dreams that would unabashedly creep into one's most vulnerable moments. Although a residual soreness remained in his limbs, it would easily wear off during the course of the morning. He rolled onto his side, settling his head upon an elbow. Time to get up.

Garet lay on the mattress to his right, happily snoring away. The noise he made with each breath was, oddly enough, softer than what one would expect, a monotonous cycle of hiss and rattle that was soothing in its familiarity. His brilliant orange hair stood erect even while asleep, held up by some unknown mechanism Isaac had not bothered to contemplate, and his muscles of his broad, good-natured face were relaxed. Only the rapid flickering of his eyelids indicated that he was dreaming. Pleasantly, or so Isaac hoped.

He stretched, accidentally bumping Garet with his foot. His stalwart companion, to no one's surprise, did not so much as stir, snoring on with unconscious determination.

Isaac chuckled internally. Typical Garet. The fiercest of storms could rage outside, but still he would sleep on, dead to the world.

Deciding to make an honest effort at getting up, Isaac shifted his blankets aside, instantly regretful at the loss of warmth. He compromised by hugging his flannel-covered knees to his chest, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the tent. A minute went by, and the blurriness of his vision along with it, to the point where it was possible to discern the various colours of the clothes piled atop his mattress' foot. He extended a hand towards it.

It was then that he heard the moaning.

Alarmed, he quickly turned his head in the direction of the tent's remaining occupant. Ivan was stirring restlessly, if quietly, his movements making faint, rustling sounds against the fabric of his duvet. His cheeks, still round with baby fat, were pinched in evident distress, and sweat slicked flat the blond strands of his messy fringe to his forehead. Occasionally, a word or two would slip from his slackened mouth, followed by the horrible, nerve-frazzling grind that was the gnashing of teeth.

Nightmares were no strangers to this side of camp, and Ivan appeared to be their most recent victim – much to his shocked dismay. If truth be told, he had never witnessed Ivan in the clutches of a bad dream – the Jupiter Adept was always first to rise, and was often seen calmly performing the morning duties of rolling up his bedspread by the time he woke up. Such ignorance on his part! He had truly been a fool to believe that the youngest and most innocent of them would somehow be spared from this universal unpleasantness.

With gentle hands, he grasped the smaller boy's shoulders and shook them, murmuring nonsensical words of comfort all the while. Deliberately wrested out of slumber, the freckled eyelids of his friend and ally fluttered open, revealing eyes of deep violet.

"Isaac? Isaac, is that you?" Ivan's voice was awfully low and sharp, in spite of the raggedness of his breath.

Only too aware of the other boy's distress, Isaac replied in soothing tones, "Yeah, it's me. I'm here."

Previously affixed at some imaginary object, Ivan's eyes snapped to meet his, their gaze unblinking. A few seconds passed on in indefinable silence, then he exhaled a loud sigh of relief.

"Did I wake you up?" His voice reverted to its characteristically high, contralto ranges, only now regaining the bleary quality of sleep, as well as the uneven one of mortified apology. The latter was accompanied by the beginnings of a blush. "I'm sorry, Isaac. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Isaac shrugged. "It's okay. I already woke up earlier."

Ivan made no response to that, so Isaac carefully withdrew from him, returning to the original destination of his clothes pile. Without the slightest trace of embarrassment that bespoke his familiarity with the present company, he removed his flannel pyjamas, before donning the various bits and pieces that comprised his working garb.

He had just finished strapping the belt of his outer tunic, when he noticed Ivan had propped himself up his elbows, and was directing an unseeing stare at the tent wall. His purple irises were nearly black in the dim light.

"Was it a bad dream?"

The other boy bolted upright as though startled, and Isaac felt a vague twinge of remorse at his own bluntness. "I – " he hesitated, looking at Isaac pleadingly. "I don't really want to talk about it. Not now," he amended hastily, a strange note creeping into his tone, "but maybe – maybe later."

Isaac shook his head in gentle refusal. "Ivan," he murmured reassuringly, "you needn't say anything you don't want to. It's alright, really. I shouldn't've asked."

"No, it's just – " Ivan seemed to struggle with words for a moment, before tossing up his palms in defeat. "Nevermind."

Isaac nodded, understanding completely. His own nightmares were not readily up for discussion, either. Tugging on his boots, he secured them with the old-fashioned granny's knot, and made to get up.

"Well, I'm leaving now." He jerked his head unnecessarily towards the tent opening. "Wanna come along?"

A yawn cracked open Ivan's jaws, dignified somewhat by the elegant splay of his small hand over his mouth. "Might as well," he answered reasonably, when the aforementioned yawn receded. "S'not like I'd be able to go back to sleep, anyway."

There was the shuffling of bedcovers being removed, then still more shuffling as Ivan rummaged around the free side of his mattress for his clothes. As was customary for him, Isaac waited with nary a word, politely averting his eyes for he knew the younger boy to be rather self-conscious. Indeed, growing up as the favourite handservant of a rich merchant would have granted Ivan the luxury of privacy, but Isaac had long suspected that his small stature (and subsequent frailty) had more to do with it.

Not that it mattered, anyway. He had, after all, seen first-hand what the diminutive Jupiter Adept was capable of in battle. Weakness of the body did not equal weakness of the mind, and mental resilience was by far the more valued commodity, considering its importance to the Psynergetic powers –

"Isaac?" Ivan's voice, soft as it was, nonetheless cut through his musings. "I'm done."

With leisurely speed Isaac turned around, eyes coming to rest upon his friend sitting in his typical working robes with legs outstretched. His guilelessly large eyes had been wiped clear of sleep, and his once rumpled bed-hair now lay in two neat, glossy curtains that framed his face. The thought of whether a hairbrush had been involved briefly crossed Isaac's mind, before promptly vanishing in the wave of Ivan's next words.

"What about Garet?" Ivan gestured to the sleeping figure on the tent's right side, lacing his expensive dragonhide shoes in the meantime. "Should we leave him?"

Isaac shifted his gaze to the focus of Ivan's attention, and smirked when he realized that their red-headed companion still remained in the same position not ten minutes ago. With the same frequency of snores issuing from his wide, gaping mouth, too.

"He seems quite cozy, by the sounds of it," he remarked cheerily. "Let him wake up when he wants to." He cast a sly glance at Ivan. "That is, unless you enjoy having a grumpy Garet around?"

This earned a laugh from Ivan, the high-pitched, carefree sound one of the few things that belied his true age. "I appreciate the gesture, but no thanks."

As one, they lifted the tent flaps and stepped outside, ready to begin the new day.

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Jenna wiped at her brow, a subconscious gesture of slackening concentration rather than one with any intention of clearing away (nonexistent) sweat. It was midday, and the sun was at its zenith, yet none of its warmth touched the ground – the air was as frigid as ever. It did not bother Jenna, for the fire of Mars ran through her veins, rendering her immune to the chill that marked the onset of spring.

What _did_ bother Jenna was the obnoxious task set before her – the task of stripping newly-felled trees bare of their leaves. The Valeans, like any small, rural community, were fairly conservative in their wood-harvesting methods: while the trunk and the broadest limbs were, logically, directed towards construction, the smaller branches also made good starting materials for various household equipment (axes, ladders, brooms), in addition to firewood. Of course, the bothersome foliage first had to be removed, and what was more effective than fire?

The thing was, burning off leaves required a certain precision and level of attention, lest an accidental fire be started. And, sorry to say, Jenna rather lacked in the above departments, as well as the all-important one of patience.

A spurt of orange flame caught a small patch of undergrowth, and Jenna hastily put it out with several stomps of the foot. Glancing around surreptitiously to see if anyone had noticed, she sighed in relief when evidence pointed to the contrary, and grudgingly resumed her work.

Blasted morning dew! She'd be about ten times more efficient if only it weren't there! Evaporating the obnoxious liquid required little effort, but since Jenna lacked the fine control that came with experience (hell, the monsters she'd scorched involved a blast of flame at more or less full power), she often ended up with blackened branches and equally black fingers.

"Sparked something again, Jenna?"

Turning around in the direction of the voice, she met the amused grin of Kay Jerra, Garet's older sister. The twenty-year-old was running her long, slender hands across her assigned part of the foliage, singeing away leaves with such effortless grace that Jenna could only seethe at the injustice of it all.

Apparently, she must have been wearing quite the look of disgruntlement, for Kay paused briefly in her work to give Jenna a placating smile.

"You just need to tone it down a little," she cajoled, her ruby eyes sparkling. "Being enthusiastic's all well and good, but we don't want to set the whole forest alight, do we?"

Jenna growled in response, earning a twinkle of silvery laughter from her companion. Despite herself, Jenna felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

Kay really was a lovely girl – or lovely woman rather, being some three years past the age of majority, now. Her serenity was a rare and admired trait amongst Mars Adepts – unless, of course, her flower garden and a certain younger brother were involved, mutually. Not only that, but she was also extraordinarily pretty, with red-gold hair cascading down her back in perfect waves, and delicate, pointed features. It was no surprise that nearly half the eligible bachelors in the village had already petitioned for her hand in marriage, but as to why she hadn't accepted any, Jenna could only wonder.

Indeed, for much of Vale's female population, Kay was the object of envy, and Jenna proved no exception to the norm. She couldn't help but compare herself to the other woman – how she was short and stocky in contrast to Kay's tall, almost ethereal form; how her boring, unwavering straight hair of mahogany red lacked the lustre of Kay's fiery tresses; how her movements, while full of purpose and determination, were completely devoid of the grace that of Kay's possessed in unholy abundance. And, to add further insult to injury, her voice was pitched low – _unlike_ Kay's melodious soprano – achieving a distinctly unfeminine, boy-like quality in combination with her forceful speech and wild gesticulations.

In short, Kay was the very definition of a lady. And Jenna was, well, the exact opposite – a _tomboy_.

Not that Jenna despised her 'tomboyish' ways, mind. She had, as a matter of fact, embraced them from a very young age, electing to roughhouse and go adventuring with the boys rather than sit around placidly, play 'tea party', and braid hair, or whatever else little girls were supposed to do. The only aspect she had retained of her gender role was the wearing of dresses – not that she would do so, given the choice, what with their impracticality regarding the more vigorous activities.

Like climbing a tree, for instance. Skirts, frivolous things that they were, always managed to snag a twig or three on the way up to the canopy. She would have opted to steal – borrow – her brother's tunic, but it was too big for her, and her parents would hear none of it. This, of course, reminded her of the occasion she _had_ successfully managed to get her hands on said tunic…

Lost in her memories as she was, Jenna failed to notice the odd angle of the tree currently being felled, or the panicked shouts that had suddenly filled the air –

"_Jenna! Watch out!_"

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Felix didn't need Isaac's cry of alarm to recognize the situation. The miscalculation in their – Isaac's, his and their fellow lumberjacks' – axing had caused the tree to swerve more to the right than had been intended, and if he wasn't mistaken, it would land directly atop –

_She_ – whatever the distance, that the person was female was immediately discernable – stood still as though immobilized, her arms dangling uselessly at her sides. Her mahogany red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which practicality matched that of her snug-fitting combat dress and travel boots. Her wine-red eyes were unfocussed –

Wine-red eyes.

_Jenna._

His axe fell to the ground with a thud, its crescent edge narrowly missing his foot. He paid no attention to that unnerving fact, however – he was too busy racing towards her, and was that strangled cry that escaped from his throat _her name_? The descending tree raced alongside him, bowing ever lower in a parody of a sinner's prayer, while its shadow slowly drew her into its blackened depths –

He urged himself on faster, adrenaline breathing life into his thumping heart, his fervently pumping legs. But however fast he kept running, he seemed like an eternity away –

_No!_

– from her.

Thought failed then, and instinct took over. There were no words, no feelings to describe what he felt – just a wild, uncontrollable _urge_ to jump over that last log and leap the remaining few feet to reach her side –

_He had to save her._

No matter what the cost.

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_With a flap of gargantuan wings that sent everyone sprawling to the ground, the three-headed dragon shot skyward, until it was naught but a red speck against the black of heaven's void. There, silvery beams criss-crossed around its enormous form, drawing what could only be the ancient rune of destruction – for in the next instant, it exploded into a thousand shards of light, raining down upon her and her comrades with frightful speed. She could only watch, entranced by their terrible beauty, as they grew nearer and nearer – _

"_Jenna!" a familiar voice called out, but her attention was so rapt that she knew not who it belonged to, just that it was familiar –_

– and the same voice echoed here, across the vast expanses of memory, causing a ringing sound in her ears. She paid it no heed, however. Her eyes were fixed upon the expanding silhouette of the falling tree, tracing every painstaking inch of its descent. And while her brain and senses screamed that danger was imminent, that she would be squished flat if she didn't move _right now_, her limbs somehow stayed frozen in place, indifferent to her mental panic.

Her heart thumped loudly.

Once.

Twice –

Then a blur of green streaked by the corner of her vision, bringing with it the hard impact of another's body colliding with hers. Gravity flung her and her rescuer down to the ground, and she had barely registered the feel of strong arms surrounding her –

_His unmistakably masculine body was pressed against her back, sheltering her own as the celestial assault finally found its target. The light's ferocity was so great that it pierced through her closed eyelids, branding nothing but white onto her retinas. Even shielded as she was, the searing heat dug into whatever remained of her exposed flesh, igniting every pain receptor until she felt like her veins were overflowing with molten fire. Her mouth automatically opened to issue a scream –_

– before the tree came down with an almighty crash, leafy debris spiraling upwards in its wake.

Silence.

A few seconds continued likewise, before a cacophony of voices split the air, their words no more than garbled noises in their languorous journey to her muddled head. Still, she had a vague impression that her name was amongst them –

_Her first coherent thought was that she had died. But after the white haze cleared, it became apparent that the pain, and in conjunction, her physical body, were here to remain – the afterlife couldn't possibly hurt this much. Sucking in the smallest of breaths was like sucking in acid – so raw were her lungs – but she reveled in the sensation unlike any other. It was a monumental victory, one that lay in the roaring agony that blazed through her limbs, her mind, her heart._

_She was alive._

_Alive for this moment only, perhaps, but alive nonetheless. Yet, if the black spots swimming in her vision and the downward compression of her ribs were any indication, she wouldn't be so for much longer. With painstaking effort, she gathered whatever air that remained in her lungs and exhaled, making a noise to urge the weight atop her to move off. Death by asphyxiation was utterly pathetic, especially when they'd made it this far. _

_Unfortunately, the weight atop her didn't budge. It – _he_ – had undoubtedly been knocked unconscious. Or worse…_

_It took surprisingly little for her to summon her Psynergy reserves and direct it into her limbs, thus invigorating her exhausted body enough to roll out from underneath him. The act caused her muscles to seize up in pain anew, but she determinedly ignored it in favour of turning around to examine her unnamed saviour. Without first identifying him, she placed a palm over his nostrils, sighing in relief when she met with rhythmic puffs of warm air. He, like she, was still alive._

_Cautiously, dreading what she would find, her eyes roved over his battered form._

_His dark brown hair lay in complete disarray atop his bloodstained scalp, and the green cloak draped across his right shoulder was now but tattered cloth. _Sol Blade_'s gem-encrusted hilt glittered from beneath an unmoving hand – _

_It was her brother._

"Felix?"

_Her saviour. Her protector. Her champion._

_Her __**Felix**__._

He rolled off of her with a grunt, concluding the manoeuvre in a sitting position. Unlike the horrific image in her not-so-distant memory, he appeared completely unhurt, if a little disheveled. A brief moment's dusting managed to remove most of said dishevelment, though.

She mimicked him, brushing leaf litter off her dress. "That – that was so close," she said, shuddering.

He turned his eyes onto her, an explanation already formed in those earth-hued depths. "Was it the flashbacks?"

She nodded, hanging her head in humiliation. She knew she must have looked like an utter fool, what with her staring transfixed at the tree while it was about to collapse upon her.

"Don't be ashamed. I have them, too." The smooth baritone of his voice held a steady note that instantly erased all traces of her self-deprecation. Reassured, she looked up at him, the corners of her mouth lifting into a smile –

"Felix? Jenna? Are you guys alright?"

A glance to the left revealed a throng of Vale's Adepts, their anxiety apparent even from this distance in the fidgeting of their feet and hands. She could not make anyone out from the mingled heads of blond, brown and red, although she knew Kay and Isaac were amongst them.

"Yeah, we're fine!" Jenna called out to them, waving cheerfully. To prove her sincerity further, she leapt to her feet, pulling up a bemused Felix along with her. "Nothing broken, see!"

"Thank the Gods! We were so worried!" they chorused back.

And then it ended – with abrupt swiftness, unlike just about every other work-related accident. The momentary excitement over, the crowd dissipated, each person returning to their respective task. Well, truth be told, nothing harmful _did_ occur, but Jenna couldn't help but be baffled at their nonchalance.

Felix simply rolled his shoulders.

The movement made her aware that the fingers of her right hand were still laced around his opposite forearm – from when she had pulled him up before, evidently. She squeezed gently, causing him to look at her curiously, before grasping his other arm with her remaining hand and repeating the gesture. It was her fault to place herself in a position to be rescued in the first place, but she could hardly shrug off his actions (like everyone else _had_) as though it meant nothing to her.

She opened her mouth to express her gratitude –

And discovered in the next instant that there was no need for words. The gentle look in his eyes told her he understood completely.

_Thank you._

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Hidden amongst the other lumberjacks with his axe hanging limply in his fist, Isaac watched the pair. A curious, burning sensation rose in his chest as he watched them – white-hot plumes of flame that licked at his heart, stoking the darker fire within. He ruthlessly squashed it down, ashamed that he could even feel such a thing in the light of Jenna's near incapacitation.

He couldn't possibly be jealous of Felix. They were _brother and sister_, for Sol's sake! It was probably their closeness that he coveted, not the way she clutched at Felix as though her life depended on it. His mind, in all probability, was simply exaggerating what he saw – they stood more than two hand-spans apart, after all, but her fingers were wrapped around his elbows in an embrace unique to only themselves. And her eyes, those beautiful wine-red eyes, were locked onto his, as though more than mere words passed between them –

Isaac looked away. No, he wasn't jealous. Not at all.

But somehow, as he dealt the next heaving swing of the axe, he had the impression that he was only lying to himself.

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Much to everyone's relief, the rest of the afternoon passed without further (life-threatening) drama. Night had fallen, dinner had taken place not long ago, and now everyone was seated around the campfire, content to bask in the soothing heat after a hard day's work.

"Y'know guys," piped up Garet, a large gloved hand on his recently satisfied stomach, "I can't believe it's already been six weeks. Time sure flies by when you're busy."

"Or as busy as Garet can get," Jenna added directly atop her fellow Mars Adept's statement, sniggering, "which is not much."

"Hey!"

The group laughed good-naturedly as Garet flapped his arms in (unfeigned) indignation, and still more when Jenna brushed away said indignation with a negligent wave of her hand.

"Yeah, and the village's barely half-done!" Garet persisted, in an effort to salvage whatever remained of his dignity. "There's still the O'Marles', Houwn's and Whinston's houses to go, among others."

"Only half-done?" injected Ivan, his tone clearly impressed. "I've overseen the construction of houses many times back in Kalay, and they take at least three months to finish. Each!"

Jenna shrugged. "Well, we do have Psynergy on our hands. It certainly makes the job much quicker."

"It never ceases to amaze me how you Valeans incorporate your powers into everyday tasks so seamlessly," Piers – who, despite his youthful appearance, was the oldest and wisest of the group – put in. "Never had I witnessed our civilization make use of Psynergy in this fashion. Not that the element of water is particularly suited towards inland construction, but all the same."

At his words, Mia smiled, a pretty quirk of the lips. "Mercury Psynergy earned its reputation from its ability to restore the poor of health. Makes me wonder how Meagan and Justin are faring…"

Everyone's eyes turned to her then, and she sighed softly, her aquamarine tresses dangling about her face. The atmosphere surrounding them seemed to have become heavier, more serious.

"I know I've placed Imil in good hands," she continued, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the campfire, "but I can't help but worry. Meagan and Justin are still so young…"

Ivan, sensing the direction of the conversation, followed along. "And I've promised Master Hammet that I would go visit him when it's all over. That, and it'll be nice to see my older sister, Hamma, again."

"Well, there's always the Teleport Lapis…" Isaac began, somewhat hesitantly. The shiny black cube, by unanimous vote, stayed in his ownership. He knew he was being irrationally possessive of it, but while the knowledge of its whereabouts remained his, he felt safe – knowing he was available to answer to an emergency, perhaps…

"No, it's yours to keep, Isaac," Ivan interjected, his violet gaze sharp, as though he knew Isaac was on the verge of volunteering something he didn't want to. "You, of all people, have earned the right to own such a precious relic. Besides, it might only have a limited number of uses, and I don't want to run that risk. Not for a petty little bout of homesickness, anyway."

Felix turned to address the youngest member of their group, who was seated directly adjacent to him. "What about you, Sheba?"

The petite Jupiter Adept frowned thoughtfully. "Master Faran knew that I had some destiny to fulfill, but now that it's all over, I feel that he'll want me back home. Although him and Mistress Claire and Reuben are not my real family, they still care about me, like I'm a part of theirs." Her voice, normally exuberant, was instead filled with a distant longing. "I – I miss them."

"Piers?"

"Don't mistake me, I've had the most enchanting of times here," the blue-haired Lemurian unhesitatingly offered, his golden eyes glimmering in the firelight. "Visiting the civilization that birthed the renowned guardians of the Seal of Alchemy had been but a childhood fantasy to me, a futile sparkle of hope in the light of Lemuria's isolation. But now that the boundaries have been shattered, and the long awaited opportunity has presented itself, the world calls out to me. What of the remnants of history's weave, the mysteries left unexplored? I must find them."

Silence reigned for a short while, everyone being lost in the process of digesting Piers' words. They had certainly completed their fair share of exploration in their latest adventure of re-igniting the lighthouses, thus returning Alchemy to the land of Weyard. But said adventure was hardly the glorified tale folklore had made it out to be: it had consisted of deadly battles, emotional outbursts, and an obscene amount of blood. Even tragedy had made its appearance, although it was mercifully undone by some welcome twist of Fate.

Hence, Isaac found it odd that Piers should desire to roam the high seas again. True, this adventure did not hold the imminent threat of Weyard's destruction, but danger prevailed all the same. Isaac himself did not care to repeat the experience of coming up close and personal with death again – his boyhood fantasies were most definitely satisfied at this point.

_To each his own_, he supposed.

Jenna cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "Beautifully poetic as always, Piers," she remarked lightly.

Piers nodded courteously at her. "Thank you, Jenna."

"I should've known we would eventually part ways," Felix said solemnly, looking around at the non-Valeans at large. "Still, all the help you've offered in the past weeks is greatly appreciated. You needn't have stayed, but you chose to."

"It's hardly a problem," Sheba answered on behalf of all of them. "We're friends – friends help each other."

Garet decided then to take an exaggerated breath, which instantly drew everyone's attention. "Y'know," he blurted out, somewhat desperately, "we're planning to hold a celebration once we've finished rebuilding. Please tell me you're all staying till then!"

"Don't worry, Garet," the non-Valeans chorused as one. "We will."

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Unbeknownst to the Adepts, thirteen pairs of eyes surveyed the peaceful scene below, the thick darkness unable even to obscure the greed in their depths.

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* * *

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**A/N**: As its name suggests, a rather uneventful, but necessary chapter – to set the foundation of the events that will follow. Somewhat light-hearted, but the story's about to get serious – fast.

To you canon fans, please forgive my removal of the ever-loquacious Kraden. He is not an essential part of the plot; in fact, his insatiable curiosity would effectively deconstruct the tangled skein of the latter, which is already difficult to work with as is.

I apologize for the long wait, but I work at my own pace, which bears an unfortunate resemblance to that of a snail's.

Kudos to anyone who can pick out the FFXII references.


	3. Chapter II: That Which Lurks Unseen

**A/N:** It appears I will be running up a endless litany of apologies for late updates – my excuse is that I foolishly take on too many projects at the same time and can neither find the time nor the motivation to finish them all. Nevertheless, this story is not dead yet.

Dedicated to my dear friend RedLion.

**Warning:** Explicit violence and gore up ahead.

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* * *

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**Our Unforgivable Sins**

**Chapter II – That Which Lurks Unseen**

-

Sweet in its likeness to birdsong, the liquid notes of the flute filled the air, a pleasant reward for every ear that managed to ensnare them. There, they intertwined with the dulcet strings of fiddle and guitar, weaving together an auditory tapestry that was as beautiful as it was rustic. Drums and tambourine completed the ensemble, their thumps and jingles sounding rhythmically in a cheerful background beat. And so, in the brightly-lit hall of New Vale's rebuilt inn, the wordless rendition of 'O Merry Spring' was brought to life.

From his vantage point atop one of the many upended tables that lined the walls, Isaac contentedly watched as two hundred or so of Vale's residents – young and old alike – danced their way across the floor. His elbows were propped on his knees, enabling him to lean forward and nestle his head between his palms. A foot absentmindedly tapped against the leg of the table beneath him in beat to the music.

They – the Valeans – were hosting a village-wide party to commemorate the complete renovation of New Vale, in addition to showing their gratitude for the foreigners' help. It had been a hard ten weeks of solid labour for all involved, and what was better than luxuriating in the pleasures of dance and friendly company?

Using his sharp eyesight, Isaac easily picked out his recently reunited parents, Kyle and Dora Milton, from a corner of the crowd. Despite the relatively fast-paced choreography of the current song, they were revolving in a slow circle, seemingly oblivious to the tide of people shifting around them. His father's eyes were locked upon his mother's in the same hungry fashion as hers were locked upon his, as though to make up for the long years spent without seeing one another. Their connection was palpable even from a spectator's distance; it was something forged between two people in love – soul-deep and utterly, utterly _real_.

Isaac felt extremely happy for them.

All of his friends were on the dance floor, too, with the sole exception of Felix. Unlike Isaac himself, who sat within clear view of everyone, the dark-haired warrior was tucked away in the most obscure corner of the room, where nothing short of keen inspection would reveal him. Nevertheless, the relaxed slouch of his shoulders and the small smile on his face belied contentment.

Their aquamarine tresses a beacon against the comparatively drabber shades of the Valeans' hair, Mia and Piers were presently dancing up a storm in the centre of the hall. It was apparent to everyone that the Mercury Adepts were naturally talented in this department, having picked up the wide assortment of dance steps in no time at all. Graceful and fluid – in accordance with their element – their movements were a pleasure to watch for any casual observer. Indeed, Isaac had noticed several others eyeing them with a mixture of admiration and envy.

Garet, on the other hand, was hilarious to watch, if not so much for the unfortunate partner involved. The latter – a pretty brunette in her late twenties by the name of Yvonne – had not been previously informed of Garet's 'bumbling' ways, so it seemed, and was now suffering the consequences of her ignorance. Apparently, Garet's infectious enthusiasm more than compensated for his left-footedness, for they made it to the end of the song with relatively little discontentment on her part.

Ivan and Sheba, however – _this_, Isaac was rather embarrassed to admit – could not be found. Their smallness of stature (even for their ages), combined with their propensity to effectively vanish in crowds, had resulted in Isaac seeing neither hide nor hair of them since the evening began. Oh, he might have occasionally caught a glimpse of straw-yellow _hair_, but said glimpse often disappeared by the time his brain caught up to his eyes to register what he was actually looking at.

Inexorably, his eyes strayed to Jenna, who was paired with the rather winded-looking innkeeper.

Her hair had long escaped the confines of its ribbon, and now hung fetchingly around her shoulders like a silken, mahogany-red shawl. Her eyes, sepia crystals infused with the colour of the setting sun, were sparkling with excitement and joy. Exertion flushed the sides of her face pink, drawing emphasis to the high cheekbones and bold curve of her nose. She looked _strong_ – full of life and unconquerable spirit.

She looked _absolutely stunning_.

Then, as though she felt the touch of his gaze, she somehow untangled herself from the crowd and materialized in front of him in response.

"Isaac!" she exclaimed; Isaac couldn't help but notice the breathless quality of her voice. It was distracting. "Come on! Stop being a killjoy and join us! You've been sitting there for the whole evening already, can't you spare a minute or two to have fun?"

Without giving him a chance to reply (or protest, rather) she reached out to clasp his hand. He nearly jerked back from the contact; so intense was the frisson of electricity that raced up his arm. Her palm was not smooth – years of sword-fighting had worn calluses into the otherwise unblemished skin – but the simple fact that it was _her_ palm he was holding sent his heart catapulting into his ribcage not unlike the way it often did in the heat of a deadly battle.

(And frankly, between Jenna and a deadly battle, he'd choose the latter.)

Powerless to resist, he half-reluctantly, half-eagerly let Jenna drag him out of his seat to the dance floor. His heart aside, the acrobatics his stomach was currently performing would outdo even the elaborate manoeuvres of Izumo's _odori_. Elation comprised only a fraction of what he felt; anxiety and dread were by far the dominant emotions, and with them, came a light-headedness so vehement that he could faint from it.

Oblivious to it all, Jenna closed her other hand around his – sending another jolt shooting up his arm – and moved herself between his widely spaced feet. Her proximity nearly undid him – she was so close that all he had to do was bend forward to kiss the shell of her ear (not that he would do _that_; it was highly improper to demonstrate such physical affection towards one other than his intended). Rose soap, perspiration and a scent that was uniquely hers filled his nostrils, until it was all he could do not to stand there and simply _breathe_ as if she were the essence of life.

"Are you alright, Isaac?" Jenna's distinctive alto echoed in his ears, low in not an unpleasant way. "You look kinda… flushed."

"What?" he garbled, too distracted by her voice and the shapes that her lips formed around it to take much notice of the actual words spoken. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I'm fine."

The elegant, dense arch of her brow rose skeptically. "Honestly?"

He tried to assure her with a smile, but judging by the way her mouth turned down at the corners, it must have looked more like a grimace instead.

"Look, Isaac," she said, a thread of uncertainty weaving itself into her voice, "if you really don't want to do this, it's okay. I guess I shouldn't have pushed you into it without asking first –"

"No, no, it's not _like_ that," he interrupted, almost forcefully. "It's just…"

_It's just that I don't want to make a complete fool of myself in front of you._

Apparently that was what Jenna needed to hear, for the hammering peal of a drum roll sounded then, and she increased the pressure of her hand around his to the point where even the soundest escape scheme was all but impossible. (Not like he was in any condition to actually _escape_, anyway.)

"Enough dallying, the song's about to start!"

Then he forgot everything as she whisked him off into the next dance.

It was 'Spring Melts My Frosted Heart', a nostalgic, slow-paced song designed to stir the more sentimental side of weary souls. Had Isaac been sitting alone with the ear of his heart out to the music, he would have taken the time to savour the bittersweet melancholy of that subdued melody, those quiet cadences. As it was, he was deriving no pleasure whatsoever from attempting to execute the dance steps (correctly) in his highly nervous state – how could crossing one's left foot over the right suddenly become so _difficult_?

Therefore, in a spectacular example of gallantry gone awry, he trod on Jenna's feet – several times. This elicited an equal amount of annoyed grunts from her, and he blushed repeatedly in mortification. The song's conclusion – when it finally arrived – filled him with such overwhelming relief that he nearly slumped into his partner, only managing to right himself in the very last instant.

"Geez, Isaac, you're terrible at this!" Jenna burst out immediately after, an expression of thorough disgruntlement on her face. "And to think you're so graceful in battle!"

Red suffused Isaac's cheeks once more, both at the unintentional compliment and the very intentional _not_-compliment of his dancing ability – or lack thereof.

"Well, I'll go partner Piers, shall I?" she quipped, jerking her thumb at said Lemurian, who was now twirling a starry-eyed Valean woman across the hall. "He seems much better than you, so at least I won't be getting sore feet after this song!"

With that, she disengaged herself from him, before flouncing away dramatically in the opposite direction. The loss of her physical closeness was less acute with the buffer of his embarrassment in place, but it still stung nonetheless. Watching Jenna resolutely proceed to carry out her promise – request Piers for a dance – caused his heart to contract still more painfully, especially when the handsome Mercury Adept unhesitatingly relinquished his previous partner for her hand.

They had just assumed the correct positions when the music started again – a light, upbeat rhythm accompanying the insanely fast trills of the fiddle. A small, disconnected corner of his mind recognized the song as 'Across the Whitewater Rapids', but the greater part of him was focused on the dancing couple. Their movements were elegant and fluid, one perfectly choreographed step transiting seamlessly into the next. Undisguised delight was evident in the sparkle of Jenna's eyes, the broad upward curve of her lips.

Isaac looked away.

_Well, at least she's enjoying herself now._

His sigh inaudible in the cheery hubbub around him, the Venus Adept turned back to reclaim the seat on his table. A few steps forward was all he managed to take before halting in his tracks.

Someone was already there. His short legs were crossed at the ankles, and his small hands clasped in his lap. Compelled by a mysterious force that defied comprehension, Isaac's vision narrowed down to two enormous, otherworldly purple eyes.

"Ivan?"

"Hello, Isaac."

The fifteen-year-old's greeting was rather graver than occasion warranted, prompting Isaac to examine him more closely. The seemingly neutral expression would probably deceive most other people, but Isaac was too familiar with the planes of that face not to detect the tightness around the mouth and eyes. On second glance, Isaac decided that Ivan's posture was also too rigid, what with the awkward stoop to his back and the closed angles of his arms and legs.

Concern filled him in an instant. "Ivan, what is the matter?" he inquired urgently.

True to Isaac's estimation, the other boy fidgeted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the level of his dragonhide boots. The words he spoke were surprisingly frank, however. "There's something really important I need to tell you. Before I go."

"Oh?"

"Not here, though." He glanced up and around quickly, indicating the boisterous and crowded hall they currently occupied. "Why don't we go outside?"

"Sure."

They made it to the exit completely unnoticed. As the door to warmth and jovial company closed behind him, Isaac immediately felt the night air settle around him, the chill of its embrace seeping through his skin and into his very bones. Ivan, however, seemed to be unaffected by that same chill; he was instead scrutinizing a nearby bush with such intensity that Isaac feared it would erupt into sizzling motes of Jupiter Psynergy.

Minutes passed between them in uneasy silence. Finally unable to bear the tense anticipation any longer, Isaac cleared his throat awkwardly, and proceeded to stumble over the words of his opening request:

"So, um, what is it that you… wish to tell me?"

Ivan's head turned ever so slowly in his direction, apprehension visible in every line of his body.

"Isaac, I –" he abruptly gritted out, before stopping just as abruptly. "No." He shook his head in apparent frustration. "How do I begin this…"

"From the beginning, of course."

At Isaac's small attempt at humour, a faint smile curled the corners of Ivan's lips, but faded quickly. "Isaac – " he started, before visibly grounding himself to take a deep breath and start again, "Isaac, there's a dream I've been having again and again for a while now."

Comprehension clicked. So _this_ was what Ivan wanted to discuss all those mornings ago. "Is it the same one? Y'know, from that morning?"

"Yes. This kind of dream… has a tendency to come true."

Isaac, who was accustomed – and rather uncomfortably, at that – to the truth of Ivan's prophesying, sobered up in an instant. "It's not good, is it?" he demanded, simultaneously worried and afraid.

Large violet eyes turned to him, sorrow in their depths. "No, it's not good at all. I'm afraid something – terrible – is going to happen to New Vale."

_No wonder __he couldn't say this inside_, Isaac rationalized. The intent glint in his companion's eyes made him realize that he had spoken that aloud, and he hastened to clarify his statement, ensuring the words came out of his mouth this time by conscious effort. "That is – everyone'll think you're jinxing them, if they heard. _Not that I do_," he added emphatically, "of course."

Ivan gave a smile to show his appreciation of the sentiment, but it did not reach his eyes. "That's one of the major drawbacks of being born a Jupiter Adept, I suppose."

Nodding in grim agreement, Isaac promptly launched into his next question, for fear the conversation would lose its momentum and force Ivan into reclusiveness once more.

"Ivan, what's going to happen?" He immediately cast his mind to the worst thing he could think of. "Will someone – die?"

Ivan looked away. His voice was barely louder than a whisper when he answered, "…Yes. More than one."

Isaac's eyes widened. "Who?"

The other boy was slower to turn back than he was to look away. It became apparent why – the expression on his face was neither something to be readily conjured nor forgotten in a heartbeat. Unshed tears glimmered in those overlarge purple eyes, making them brighter than they already were. Lips were peeled back to reveal clenched teeth, and the lines of that heart-wrenchingly young face were contorted – as though he was in pain.

_He _is_ in pain_, Isaac corrected himself, suddenly aware of what the Jupiter Adept would say even before the words themselves were spoken. His heart squeezed forcefully in sympathy. _Because he doesn't know._

An uncharacteristic harshness filled Ivan's voice when he finally spoke. "I can't say. It doesn't show their faces. I'm sorry."

Isaac was not so quick to give up, however. He had faith – boundless quantities of it – in Ivan. "If you were to make a guess, though," the Valean prodded, schooling both his tone and facial expression to one of gentle patience, "who would you say they are?"

Although it took him a moment to respond, it was clear from Ivan's tone that he was encouraged by the lack of censure in his leader's words. "If I were to guess, I'd say that they're someone familiar. Someone we're close to, perhaps."

"_We?_" Isaac choked out, the beginnings of something truly horrible coalescing in his mind.

Ivan's look of horror mirrored his own as he grasped the implication of his own words. "You don't think it's – one of _us_?"

"According to what you said, it's very likely."

The fifteen-year-old seemed to visibly deflate then, all of his spirit leaving him in place of a weariness that did not belong to his round, smooth-cheeked face. "Oh, Isaac. I'm sorry. I never should have brought this up. Now it'll be stuck in the back of your mind, constantly nagging at you –"

"No, Ivan, don't be sorry," interjected Isaac firmly, not wanting to add Ivan's misdirected self-chastisement on top of everything else. "It's not your fault that you can see things before they happen. Just one thing, though – is there any way to stop this?"

Ivan's narrow shoulders slumped. "I don't know. I've never really… tried to stop anything before."

"Well, maybe there's a chance to stop it." Determination forged Isaac's tone into one of steel. "Maybe what you've seen is something that _can_ happen, like one of the roads life can take if the right conditions are met. Destiny can't be completely set in stone, can it?"

Ivan looked up at him, his eyes somber. "Yeah, I guess," he said. "I hope you're right, Isaac."

It seemed that any further discussion of this topic had reached its end for the time being. Even so, Isaac felt that whatever he had gleaned from it was utterly inadequate. Someone – maybe two someones, who were exceedingly familiar, at that – would die, the manner in which remained unknown, as was the possibility of circumvention. There was nothing useful that could be done with this information – he would simply be branded a rumourmonger were he to spread such vicious tales of another's impending doom around the village.

Imbued with the divinity of Psynergy or not, soothsaying amongst Valeans was treated with suspicion at best, or blatant dismissal at worst. Nothing of the Adepts save those of Fire and Earth alignment featured in Valean lore; centuries of isolation had eventually erased all tales of those other wonderful and terrible powers which had, together, enforced the Sealing of Alchemy. Until Isaac embarked on that monumental quest to prevent the lighthouses from being lit – and consequently met Ivan – he never knew that the art of prophecy even existed.

And _Ivan's_ prophecies always contained elements of truth (for Isaac had witnessed them first-hand, after all), proving that those old, superstitious beliefs were just that – superstitious. The question was: what were those elements? Two people couldn't just up and die without circumstances being manipulated to that end.

There had to be more to it – there just _had_ to be.

"Ivan?" Isaac pressed on, his words loud in the unsettling quiet. "I know that this is a rather intrusive question, but… what do you actually see? In the dream? You – you don't have to answer if you don't want to," he added hastily when he noticed Ivan's hesitant expression.

It was a full minute later when Ivan replied – a minute in which Isaac thought he was not going to reply at all. "Blood," he finally said, his voice hushed with fascinated horror. "A lot of blood. Blood at the beginning and the end. Everything else in between is rather vague, but there are some distinct images. A serpent biting into its own flesh – I'm not sure what that means, though. Then there's people, surrounded by fog." He spread his arms wide, trying to convey what he meant with actions. "I think – I think the people represent the village-folk, and the fog, mistrust or confusion or something along those lines. And there's this plant which I don't recognize – it grows by the riverside, and has fluffy, purplish leaves. The serpent's lying in a bed of these, then the people come and chase it off, but in the end, it returns to die on that same bed."

Silence followed the conclusion to Ivan's speech once more, enveloping the two Adepts in the stagnant aura of grim speculation.

Blood. That was the unquestionable symbol of violence, Isaac thought. Perhaps a dispute or something similar would occur in the village, where weapons were drawn, and –

But he couldn't see it. Valeans were pacifists by nature, exempting his and his comrade's deviation as a necessity of their quest (nonetheless, he had little stomach for bloodshed, and would only use it as a last resort). Murder had no place amongst them – they were far too small a community to allow suspicion between fellow villagers, since whatever damage thus inflicted would be collateral. Additionally, Vale had a high standard of moral conduct to abide by – it was either that or be ousted altogether.

(Besides, he didn't want to believe that someone he supposedly knew was capable of committing such an atrocity.)

A freak accident, then? Some attackers from outside? Or an invasion of wild animals, mutated by the streams of Psynergy that now flowed uninhibited across the land?

Mind reeling with an ever-growing list of possibilities, Isaac decided it was probably best to move on to the next symbol.

A serpent biting into itself – he couldn't figure out the meaning of that, however. In Valean lore, serpents came in two forms – the legless, smooth-scaled kind that lurked in the undergrowth, and the terrifyingly enormous, winged dragons that wreaked havoc upon all that was in their path. Somehow he felt that Ivan was referring to the former, that kind that embodied treachery in its stealthy, silent movements.

Surely, none of his friends would betray him, or orchestrate someone else's murder? Right? _Right?_

Not Garet, not with that easy smile and cheerful attitude? Nor Felix, who had the steadfastness of loyalty burning in his eyes?

Surely not Jenna, who embodied the radiance of Sol himself?

_**She could, y'know**__,_ a voice at the back of his head sniggered malevolently. _**All it takes is for something to force her bit by bit into a corner, until she cannot handle anymore and – **_**breaks**_**. Like a little porcelain doll…**_

Unbidden, the image of said doll appeared in his mind's eye, but with Jenna's features painted onto its previously bland face. The doll fell to the ground, shattering into thousands of pieces, with each piece containing a tiny portion of Jenna's eyes, Jenna's mouth, Jenna's hair…

He recoiled violently.

_**But as**__** deliciously horrifying as that may be**__,_ the voice persisted, _**you seem to be forgetting someone else…**_

_Who? _challenged Isaac, angry that such darkness could even be lurking in his innermost thoughts at all. _WHO?_

_**Yourself.**_

Snapped out of that line of thought by the disturbing revelation, Isaac found himself in mental limbo for a moment, undecided on what to think for fear that it would backfire on him. It was then that the perfectly innocuous topic of the plant arose, liberating him from his quandary.

He latched onto it for dear life – or for the sake of preserving his sanity, rather.

Ivan's description – fluffy, purplish leaves, grew by the riverside – sounded awfully familiar. The contrasting mix of sweet and caustic flavours was foremost in his mind, but he was no more knowledgeable than Ivan on the subject on its uses. If only he'd paid more attention in those horticulture lessons back then (rather than childishly conjure daydreams of epic quests in which dragons were slain and damsels-in-distress, rescued)…

"Isaac? _Isaac?_"

Shaking his head in an attempt to banish the last cobwebs of thought from his mind, Isaac slowly reverted to the present. Gradually, the perception of his surroundings sharpened – where he once sensed nothing, he now felt the unpleasant tingle of cold, heard the muted echo of music emerging from the inn, saw the glimmer of concerned purple eyes looking into his own.

"Sorry. I was just – thinking about what you said."

Ivan seemed to be on a different train of thought altogether. "Are you… are you going to tell the others about this?" he blurted suddenly, distress colouring his young voice in thick, uncontrolled waves. The raw sound of it made Isaac want to cradle the smaller boy against his chest, had he known whether such actions would be untoward or otherwise.

He compromised by saying in a soothing voice, "Ivan, if you really don't want them to know, just say so. I can promise to keep it between us."

"No, it's… not like that," Ivan spluttered, unconsciously imitating Isaac's words to Jenna from before. The irony was not lost on the Valean. "It's – it's just – "

The fifteen-year-old's reluctant, fumbling words died in his throat when Isaac strode up to place a hand on his shoulder. "Ivan," he said solemnly, trying to convey his understanding in the solidarity of his gaze, "I know what you're saying. You don't want to keep secrets between friends, but you don't want to leave something like this hanging over their heads. I wouldn't, either."

Recognizing Isaac's words for what they represented, gratitude welled up in Ivan's purple eyes. The sight of that face – its expression so naked and earnest – wrenched painfully at Isaac's heartstrings; it took all of his willpower to keep from turning away.

"Thank you, Isaac."

And with those three words, the uncomfortable tension that had surrounded them since the beginning of their conversation finally dissipated.

Satisfied that they had reached some sort of resolution, Isaac gently removed his hand from Ivan's shoulder, yet still maintaining their close proximity. They stood like this for a moment more, basking in the warmth of each other's presence, as the merry noises from within the inn slipped underneath the entrance door to wrap around them.

"Y'know, Isaac?" Ivan's voice was soft and somewhat nostalgic. "I'm really glad I've met you."

Isaac sighed, this time in fond exasperation at the finality of his friend's unspoken farewell. "Ivan, we _will_ see each other again," he said, his tone both forceful and gentle at once. "The Teleport Lapis, remember?"

The corner of Ivan's lips quirked up oddly. "Of course."

"And I'll send Garet over as many times as you need him to baby-sit you."

That earned an unmistakable sniff of contempt from his friend, but Isaac detected the undercurrent of amusement in it as well. He decided to expand on the joke.

"Or for _you_ to baby-sit _him_, more like."

At that, Ivan could contain his amusement no longer, and promptly burst into a fit of high-pitched giggles.

"Making jokes at Garet's expense, are you?" he countered in a scolding voice once the initial wave of laughter had subsided, though the bright twinkle in his eyes rather ruined the effect.

Isaac smirked. "Garet's _and_ yours." The unspoken _'not mine'_ resonated as loudly in the air as it would were it vocalized, sending them both into another fit of laughter.

"Come on, let's get you back to the party." Opening the inn's entrance door at the same time, Isaac placed a firm, but gentle palm between Ivan's shoulder blades, urging him forward. "You need to enjoy your last night here, lest someone runs up a tale about us Valeans being horrible hosts."

Still chuckling, they strolled back into the welcoming light.

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* * *

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The lone silhouette against the backdrop of star-dusted sky, Jenna leaned back on the hay roof of her family's rebuilt house, eyes fixed unseeingly on the heavens above. Most of Vale's inhabitants were in their beds by now, and while Jenna complied with the preliminaries, having already changed into her knee-length nightgown (again, the cold didn't faze her), she was by no means sleepy. It was at this hour – right at the pinnacle before wakefulness crossed over into slumber – that she liked to reflect on the events of the day. And what currently had her mind occupied were the bittersweet farewells the comprised the afternoon:

_If the merriment of a particular festivity could truly be captured and offered to the gods in exchange for weather blessings, then yes, Jenna would argue that it was possible. It was currently afternoon of the day following the party, and the conditions were inarguably the best Vale's temperate climate could offer. The sun, a shimmering sphere of molten gold, hung high in the wide expanse of uninterrupted blue sky. The biting chill of early spring had vanished in place of something at the milder end of the temperature spectrum, and the breeze was as a gentle brush against the exposed skin of her face and hands._

_Altogether, it epitomized the most beautiful of days – a fitting tribute to the long-anticipated departure of her beloved friends._

_Its sculpted dragonhead pointing proudly into the sky, the _Wings of the Anemos_ lay upon the niche of unobstructed land that paved the route between New Vale and Vault. Carefully oiled wooden panels comprised the parallel rows that spanned across the length of its hull, and the gleaming frames of its metallic wings were outstretched in preparation for flight. Far, far above on deck, the tiny figures of Piers, Ivan, Sheba and Mia could be seen waving back at the surrounding crowd of Valeans, their frantic hands like butterfly wings against the sunlight._

_Jenna's replying wave was just as frantic._

_There it was; moisture had indeed welled up in the corners of her eyes – she could feel its hot, sticky vapour on her cheekbones – but she opted not to blink it out of existence. Her friends deserved her acknowledgement – her unshed tears, pitiable sentiments that they were, testified to that. As did the stranglehold of combined affection and sadness that enclosed her ribcage, suffocating her until she felt as though all her breath was knocked out of her lungs._

_She would miss them – her friends. Oh, how she would miss them dearly._

_Appearing first as ribbons of indefinable energy that emerged from the earth, the blue aura of Psynergy gradually engulfed the entire ship, its scintillating coils featuring with greatest prominence on the wings. Next, in the awe-inspiring fashion hitherto believed to exist only in the realm of dreams, it lifted the enormous vessel ever higher and higher into the sky, before stopping at some three hundred feet. A magnificent lunge forward, and then the _Wings of the Anemos_ was gone, shimmering motes of Psynergy trailing behind in its wake._

_The tears flowed freely down her cheeks, now._

**Goodbye.**

Wrenching out of that memory with considerable effort – some of it painful – Jenna then raised her sleeve to dab at her moistened eyes, before putting it away determinedly. She would see her friends again – that much she _promised_ herself. Vast inconveniences that living on separate continents may present, they would not deter her from what she most desired – even if it required amassing funds that she did not have, or worse yet, uprooting herself entirely. Her ties were, after all, strongest to the ones whom she loved; her sentimentality with regards to her homeland – as powerful as it was – could only be insignificant compared to that.

Of course, there was always the option of _borrowing_ the ever-so-useful Teleport Lapis –

_Sssrrrtt!_

Startled out of her musings, Jenna immediately turned around towards the direction of the sound – from behind her. Familiar shadows and moonlit hay were the only things to greet her eyes. Far from being assured by the quiescence in her sight, she opened up her more exquisite senses, straining her ears in search for any other sounds, employing the temperature sensitivity of her Mars Psynergy to detect any traces of heat in the air –

There was someone there. And whoever it was had _not_ bothered to make their appearance, which could only mean that their intentions towards her were less than good…

Obviously the other person had come to the realization that Jenna was now aware of him or her, and decided to make the best of their opportunity to attack. The black streak that emerged from seemingly nowhere was so unexpectedly huge that it caught Jenna off-guard, crushing her face-first into the hay roof before she could even move, much less summon a means to counterattack. She thrashed desperately under its equally huge weight, her mind flooding with ever-increasing panic as each flail of her limbs proved to be less and less effective…

She had to shake it off; she _had_ to shake it **off **–

Something struck her. Pain, sharp agonizing pain erupted at the back of her head, accompanied by the blurring of her vision and a mounting sensation of light-headedness. Her last thought was that she was fainting –

Then she knew no more.

-

* * *

-

_Thump._

At the unmistakable sound of flesh impacting against hay, Felix jerked upright, his fingers clenching around an oil-soaked rag in the midst of polishing the Sol Blade. There was something inherently wrong with that sound – it was too heavy to suggest anything but a whole body collapsing upon the house's roof, the latter down from which it echoed. And while he was familiar with Jenna's nightly habit of retreating to that precarious spot to unwind, it could not be her who had made that sound – she was far too physically agile to be stumbling around.

Which could only mean one thing:

Intruders.

Seizing the Sol Blade, Felix rose from his sitting position in the garden flowerbed, whereupon his long legs carried him to the northern side of the house in a matter of seconds. Here, the land was elevated by the natural incline of the mountain, enabling him to scan the expanse of the house's rooftop without obstruction.

Jenna was nowhere in sight.

Immediately, his heartbeat accelerated from the soft flutterings of initial unrest to the loud, staccato pounding of full-blown anxiety. His grip tightened on the Sol Blade's hilt to the point where the sharp corners of the embedded gemstones were pressing into his flesh – not that he noticed at all. He was far too busy sweeping his eyes over the night-darkened landscape, searching – _hoping_ – for any trace of that characteristic mahogany-red hair, for a sign that indicated nothing unspeakable had happened to his precious little sister.

Therefore, when he heard the unfamiliar, almost imperceptible footsteps of leather-clad feet, his sword arm twitched violently in response.

_Thud-thud-thud._

They – the footsteps – pattered off in the direction of the woods, their echoes bleeding into the soil to emerge at his feet as disruptions in the native Psynergy rhythm of the earth. He lunged after them in hot pursuit, adapting his stride into that of a predator's march, silent and purposeful. The aura of Psynergy sprung up around him as he walked, engulfing him in a shimmering blue mist that neither touched his features nor the ground.

His keen eyesight made out twin silhouettes in a partial copse, one crouching above the other. Stray beams of moonlight snaked through the canopy to alight upon the latter's face, illuminating the clothed mask that covered all features save the eyes. Beneath him – for the greatest of bulk was undeniable proof that he was male – with the sprawled mess of night-darkened mahogany-red hair to identify her, lay Jenna. Her nightgown had collected in bunched folds at her waist, revealing stockinged thighs up upon which disgustingly grubby fingers were trailing against –

That – here, profane descriptions too foul to be articulated in words erupted in Felix's mind – bastard was _touching_ his sister! Touching _his_ Jenna!

Red filled his vision.

With scarcely a bleep of conscious thought, Felix conjured Odyssey out of the very air surrounding him, the Psynergy weave manifesting as a glowing trio of gargantuan swords. A split second later saw the swords hurtling through the night straight into the heart of Jenna's assaulter, exploding his ribcage to send blood and innards spraying in every direction. The momentum of the attack carried whatever remained of the corpse – that the man was dead at this point was an indisputable fact – several feet, slamming it into the tree behind with such force that an imprint was chiselled into the wood.

The triple swords already dissipating into tendrils of Psynergy, Felix crossed the distance between himself and Jenna with hurried strides. The Sol Blade made a soft, metallic clatter as it fell from his hand onto the ground; he was cupping her face now, two fingers pressed into the jugular of her throat. When his gloved fingertips invariably met with a pulse – its beat strong and unwavering, no less – he almost collapsed with relief.

Uncaring of the gore splattered across her once-pristine nightgown, Felix grasped his sister's shoulders, and shook them gently.

"Jenna?"

Her response came a few moments later in the form of a stifled moan, but otherwise she did not wake.

Carefully, Felix returned the Sol Blade into its belted scabbard at his hip, before unclasping his cloak and wrapping it around Jenna's prone form. Then, with almost indecent tenderness – given the circumstances – he lifted her up bridal-style, and carried her back to their house.

Her weight was warm in his arms, her shoulders and knees fitting into the nooks of his elbows in a way that suggested she had always meant to be there. He didn't contemplate this further, though – his attention was directed into summoning the mystical Psynergy hand, the latter of which coalesced into existence from silvery-blue motes in the air. Its enormous, translucent fist closed around the house's entry doorknob and twisted, letting the door swing open to reveal the house's dark interiors.

Smoothly navigating his way to the dining table – the furniture was too sparse as of yet to present any kind of obstacle – he gently laid her atop it, then turned back towards the entrance. He didn't have time for her now. The intruders were rapidly retreating – he could sense them all now; there were twelve more of them – and he did not intend for them to escape.

Alive.

Proxian philosophy dictated that one should never let his enemies live, nor demonstrate mercy to them, for they would only return with greater vengeance to salvage their broken pride. It was a brutal philosophy – gratuitously so, as he had first thought – but with the passage of time spent in the company of the Fire Clan, he realized just how necessary it was. Anyone who resided in the harsh, uncompromising lands of the North could not be any less than brutal if they wanted to survive.

It was either to kill, or be killed.

With that belief firmly entrenched into his mind, Felix trotted back into the night (again, the Psynergy hand reappeared to close the door). Adrenaline surged through his veins, combining with a rage simultaneously hotter than Tiamat's flame and colder than Moloch's icy breath, to form something so potent that it was a wonder he didn't implode from the sheer destructive power of it all.

And this power was about to unleash itself upon its next victim. One of the masked strangers was squatting by the edge of a nearby rock precipice – the sentry doomed to lose his sentry status.

The pointed rock-cone of a Spire materialized behind the unwary man, and before he could take another breath, collided with the back of his skull. There was a sickening crunch where rock met bone and obliterated the latter, before the man collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

One down, eleven more to go.

And eleven idiots they were. Finally realizing their numbers had been rapidly deteriorating – by some unforseen force, no less – they opted to flee, hurtling as a single, writhing black mass into the woods. Cowardly bastards. Did they not realize that he could sense them as clearly as if they were right next to him, their panicked footsteps reverberating in ripples of Venus Psynergy across the earth?

It was patently clear, thought Felix in the split second with which he gathered energy for his next attack, that they were no organized criminals, just greedy opportunists. Their unified, haphazard flight indicated that much – true criminals would have split paths to disorientate their pursuer, and then reassemble stealthily to eliminate the latter.

But Felix couldn't bring himself to feel any mercy for them. They had come at a time where Vale was at its most vulnerable, to rape (his fists clenched harder at that thought) and plunder as their putrid, black hearts saw fit. To reward such evil with even the scarcest morsel of compassion would be an unforgivable mistake.

His decision long finalized, Felix brought his palm to the earth.

A wall of tangled grasses sprang up ahead of and around the masked intruders, preventing their immediate escape. Before they could even register what they were seeing for the expressions of bewilderment to materialize on their faces, the earth opened up in a devastatingly spectacular display of Mother Gaia, and swallowed them into its depths. Shockwaves resonated in its wake as mud and gravel knitted themselves back together at the surface, completing the burial to ensure that those fools would never commit another wicked deed ever again.

Then the world came to a shuddering silence.

Panting with exertion, Felix closed his eyes, finally feeling the tension that had gripped him all night lift away from his shoulders.

He had saved Jenna. That, in the end, was all that mattered – whatever the consequences that would follow.

For he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that they were not going to be good.

-

* * *

-

**A/N**: Finally, we have some plot going!

It has just struck me how this particular story bears a marked resemblance to one of Sophocle's Greek tragedies (Oedipus Rex, anybody?). The readers already know what will ultimately transpire – the pleasure lies in watching the story unravel in a manner befitting that end, rather than the surprises and revelations that typically come along with a more action-filled plot.

Like it, or don't like it? Reviews are most welcome.


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